Annacest Drabbles
by justonemoreartist
Summary: A series of short Annacest drabbles that illustrate some of her desires. Consolidated into one "story" for tidying purposes, no one chapter is related to any other. Contains Annacest (duh) and Elsanna.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Canon Anna.

**I've Met You Before**

"So…skating?"

"How did you know?!"

The pair giggled into their gloves and took off. An endless frozen lake cut across clear to the horizon, stretching on and on until it was swallowed up by the encroaching black. It was impossibly smooth, not a single rut or crack to mar its perfect, glossy shine, and when they sped over it with the grace and speed of well trained dancers the ice healed itself in their wake. There were no walls, no doors, no boundaries at all, but their laughter echoed and rebounded until it felt like a whole symphony of people crowded around them, cheering them on as they passed.

Anna twirled and the skates flashed as she spun, her form blurring into something violently colorful and effortlessly beautiful. Her cape was a fluttering flag that swirled around her like a mountain wind around a towering peak.

Anna skidded to a stop and watched. "Wow, look at you go! You're so much better at that than me."

The other girl released her hold on the spin and wobbled dangerously on her skates, but before she could fall strong hands were gripping her wrists and pulling her upright. Her eyes met their twins and the pair of them grinned at each other, almost shyly, though they'd done this many times before.

"I _have_ had a bunch of practice, and that's what makes all the difference. If only you'd practice with me…?" she asked, and poked her double on the nose, making her squirm and giggle again. She could become addicted to how much they laughed.

"Oh no, it's not something I'm really good at." She shivered and grabbed her arms, her breath staining the air with warm clouds.

"Here," Anna said, and offered her a steaming mug of cocoa. The other woman smiled thankfully and took a sip, sighing as the hot liquid trickled down her throat.

"Remember when we used to think that if the fjord froze, all the fish died?"

Anna did remember. She'd been a lot younger then, but she recalled the conversation like it was yesterday. Their parents had been so upset to learn that Anna had been found down by the waters' edge, trying to catch fish and save them before they all died in winter. It had been an enormous relief to discover that ice floats on water, even if it felt strange that you could have your fun and still keep others safe.

She nodded. "Oh, and Father looked so angry when he found us!" Her twin shrugged and twiddled a braid looped over her shoulder. Truth be told, their Father had been angry, but it had been a momentary thing, born of terror and frustration rather than real rage.

"Do you think any of the ice is thin enough so we can see some?"

"Probably not."

She leaned back against the balcony post, looking out over the view. Her bare shoulders rubbed against the vines clinging to the pillar as she surveyed the horizon. Her twin was seated across from her in the same pose, with their knees up and elbows hanging over them.

"I always wanted to bring someone here. Seems kinda…romantic, you know?"

"Yeah," she said, eyeing the delicately arranged flowering plants, the light seeping out of the windows, the twilight cloaking the balcony in something akin to quiet, but not quite. She straightened, hands falling to her sides. "Well, why shouldn't I take someone here? It's pretty, and it's nice, and-tell you what," she told the other woman firmly, "I _will_ take someone here, and maybe we'll even….maybe…"

"Don't promise me that. You know you can't," Anna said. There was something in her eyes, something that colored them more blue than green.

She clenched her fists, fingernails biting her palms, willing her resolve to break through to her just as easily as it did her skin. "I can and I will!"

"No, you can't," Elsa said.

Anna slumped against the pillar. There were thorns now, but she hardly cared. Elsa watched her, silent, unmoving, as lifelike as a painting. She had her hair arranged like Mother always used to, her clothes were Anna's clothes, down to the last stitch, and her skin reminded Anna of the moon on a clear night. She was not smiling.

"I wish I could touch you," she whispered. It felt safer to say it in the darkness, but Elsa's eyes gleamed, boring through to her soul.

"We both know that's not how it works."

"No. No, it's not." They were silent, and Anna fiddled with one of the straps on her gown, for wont of something to do, while Elsa remained static.

Anna glanced down at her hands. They'd fallen into her lap, and she onto the ground. Elsa examined her from above. She seemed almost curious. Anna knew she wasn't, not really.

"I wish I could kiss you," she said to no one in particular.

If Elsa could answer her, she would never know. She slowly opened her eyes to the early morning sun and birdcalls.

She woke up alone. She always did, these days.

"I wish I knew how to skate," she told the birds, and they chirped in response.

She rolled over and drew the covers over her head. She had better places to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Knight/Dark!Anna x Canon Anna.

**I Like Fighting Myself: I Always Win**

The knight hit the dirt hard.

She groaned, unable to move, little spots popping in and out of existence in her vision, which was obscured by the apparently useless helm. She pulled it off with some effort, the shock of the cool air against her sweaty skin and ruffled hair enough to cut back on some of the dizziness. She panted, her ribs protesting even as her lungs burned for air, the plates of metal heavy against her chest.

"How…how did you…?"

Anna regarded her with a smug expression, her hands on her hips. It looked like she was a million miles away, but she knew that the princess was only a foot or so from her, looking down. The knight wet her lips and tried again.

"I can't…I just can't believe that just happened."

"What, that I beat you?"

The knight threw an arm over her eyes, her cheeks burning. "It's the fact that you did it with a _frying pan_."

Anna laughed and knocked her knuckles against the back of the pan. "If it's any consolation, I'm pretty well versed in various forms of weaponry, including brooms, lutes, and carrots." And to think she'd been spending her time training in archery and fencing.

She tried to sit up and hissed as her sides screamed at her, slumping to the ground again. She had every mind to repay the other girl for every bump and bruise she'd received. But not now. Later. As in much.

Anna cocked her head at her, tossing the frying pan to the side effortlessly. The knight winced as it landed on top of her sword. Blasted thing was probably damaged beyond all repair: she was never going to underestimate the power of cookware again.

"I won, y'know."

She grit her teeth and glared up at the cloudless sky. "A fact that I am rather painfully aware of."

"And you know what they say about winning…"

Anna knelt on either side of the knights' torso, her dress covering the woman's pelvis. She grinned at her fuming companion and slid her hands over her gauntlets, pressing them down into the dirt. She leaned forward and nipped at a lock of wet hair: she saw her throat swallow in response.

"To the victor go the spoils of war…" she purred. The knight was deliberately not looking at her, her lips pursed. Well. That would change. She tilted her head and, avoiding the scratch on her neck, nosed the pulse point, grinning at the way it throbbed harder.

"And you are my spoil. That I'm going to spoil. Sexually. As in I want to have sex with you."

The knight ground her teeth, her face tight, before she turned her head to meet Anna's gaze. Their faces were identical, but one woman's eyes were burning and the other's dancing.

She blew out a frustrated breath and returned her eyes to the sky. "Fine," she admitted gruffly, "but only if I'm on top."

Anna gave her a look. "Uh, no?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Anna x Self.

**To You, I Return**

It hadn't hurt.

She hadn't had the time to worry about whether it would, or to consider what sort of pain it'd be. Intuitively, it should have hurt. The jagged crystals that had crept over her skin sent slivers of agony through her fingers as they spread; every pulse of her heart was met with an answering ache, the sound of a patient, lumbering beast treading closer and closer to a trembling body as it waited for its prey to die. The dull pounding that had sunk deeper into the cold flesh with every faltering step had exploded into numberless fangs that ripped her apart and tore the light from her eyes until there was nothing left but a darkness that bespoke eternal calm, a refuge from the madness she had left.

And now it was quiet, and at last she could rest her weary bones.

It was not a silence due to a lack of sound, because in all honesty she couldn't remember what sound was anymore. Nor was it a silence that shivered like a taut string, stretched out across a bottomless ocean, painted a color she could no longer recognize, strained and fragile. It was, instead, the gentle embrace of a long-forgotten friend, and she could feel it surrounding her as the endless moments stretched on and on and on until they, too, meant nothing at all.

An infinite number of seconds, minutes, days, centuries, and other words that tried to categorize and quantify a concept that moved beyond language and into forever passed and she found herself thinking. It was strange. It was a strange _thing_. Did those still exist?

With a titanic struggle, she stopped thinking, and instead _remembered_.

She remembered a stumbling march, fighting against bitter winds. She remembered cupping a flicker of hope against her chest, lest it die. She remembered a metallic ringing that sounded more like twisted laughter or perverted joy than anything real. She remembered a figure, standing, and a queen, kneeling. She remembered a panicked flight, the hard, unyielding ice beneath her feet, her arm flung out, to plead, to protect, to serve as a constant reminder that the woman beneath her was anything but, the sword coming down, the last thing she saw before icy flowers bloomed in her eyes and her heartbeat slowed, and slowed, and stopped.

She wondered now, what had happened. Had she been saved?

_Could _she be saved?

What kind of question was that?

There was a light in front of her.

This, too, was strange. For the longest time, there hadn't been a "front" at all: she had simply been, for all of time and as far as she knew, as wide and as deep and as long as her imagination could take her. But now she had a front, and sides, even, and there was something growing there, or perhaps being revealed.

It was her.

She was brilliant, in a quiet way, in the way that firelight cast upon a painting illuminates without overwhelming. There was something beautiful about her that she had never considered before. Perhaps she hadn't had the time, or her vision had failed her, but now she could see the warmth, could taste the light, could feel the love that bled out of her like a body lying broken in the snow. For long, meaningless moments she just watched herself standing there, motionless, a shining being in a sea of nothingness that only enhanced the rosy glow.

Her other self, if "other" was the correct word, stepped toward her, and Anna lifted her hand. They met, mirror images of one another, standing stock still on a desolate plane, and she examined herself. She took in her stationary chest, the shock of white hair, the ice that had once screeched across her skin, making it burn, but now glittered and gleamed in her mind's eye like a trinket given by a lover. She looked at her face, at the locks frozen and tinkling against it, at her eyebrows, tinged with frost, at her eyelashes, shimmering with unshed tears, at her eyes.

They may have been a different color but they had always been Elsa's eyes.

Her other self smiled, and Anna copied the motion, because it meant that she was happy, or perhaps the other way around? It didn't matter. She was here, and her sister had been saved, and for the first time in her life she could look into her own eyes and believe that the woman staring back at her had been worthwhile. The realization had come too late for her to share it with Elsa, and yet somehow she was still content to simply be.

Her twin laid her hand on Anna's heart and pushed.

It _hurt_. It felt like blood gushing through constricted veins, like battered, exhausted muscles tensing and straining, like bone grinding against bone, like a thousand shocks to her torn flesh, like a shot to her wildly beating heart.

She gasped. The silence shattered. She looked down.

Elsa was sobbing. But why? Why would she be crying, when Anna was alive and her wide eyes could see everything, could see the strands of white-gold hair that escaped her braids, the shivers that raced over her creamy shoulders with every breath, the lacy patterns of her dress, the color of the sky above the mountains and the sea beneath their feet, could see the swirls of air that signified her own breath, hot and invincible against the cold.

Elsa's breath left her in a rush. Her weak grip tightened, and she lifted her head. Her eyes were a vivid, gorgeous blue. The pinkness only served to make them brighter. They burned with a savage, fragile hope.

"…Anna?"


End file.
